


Cas Does Breakfast

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breakfast, Fluff, Food, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is bored of pancakes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Granola and yoghurt

“We  _ always _ have pancakes, Dean. It is all we ever seem to eat for breakfast.”

 

Dean slides back in to his side of the booth at the diner, fumbling uncomfortably with his suit jacket, and peers down at Cas' breakfast with a look of mistrust.

 

He watches as Cas loads up a spoon with whatever it is that lives in granola, and dips it into yoghurt (plain), before lifting it up towards his mouth.

 

Dean stares, transfixed. “Is it good?”

 

Cas continues to chew, a very considering expression on his face as he does. “It is an interesting combination of both textures and flavour.” He looks down at the bowl and points at something with his spoon. “This is salted caramel granola. With hazelnuts. It is very pleasant.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Dean replies suspiciously, sipping on his black coffee and waiting for his regular order to arrive. “If you say so.”

 

“Are you ready for today?” Cas asks, thickly, because the granola-yoghurt-combo seems to weigh heavy on his tongue.

 

“Sure,” Dean leans back in his seat a little. “Sam's out now, jogging for information, by the time he's worked up a sweat? This thing'll be a piece of cake.”

 

Cas smiles indulgently. “'Jogging for information?'”

 

“Yeah,” Dean yawns, straightening himself quickly and thanking the waitress who slid his plate down in front of him before digging straight in. “You know. That woman who looks like a model from a lycra catalogue. Couldn't take her eyes off of Sam yesterday. Makes sense if he, uh, pumps,” and Dean sniggers at himself, “Her for information.”

 

Cas narrows his eyes, very slightly, and looks away. “I see.”

 

Dean huffs, and points a fork in Cas' direction. “Don't ' _ I see _ ' me, Cas. I know that look.”

 

Cas resolutely looks down at his breakfast and avoids Dean’s gaze. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

 

“Yeah, you do. And I'm  _ so _ not interested in Miss Lycra, or anyone, other than you.” He leans forward a little over the table and whispers conspiratorially, “You'd think a former angel of the Lord would have better self confidence,” then winks, which Cas misses because he's too busy trying to rein in an expression a mixture of sulking, offended, and pouting.

 

“Especially one who looks as good as you do,” Dean adds, and Cas catches a quick glimpse of Dean's eyes flicking up and down him with a big, smirking grin.

 

Cas still doesn't look at him though, not properly.

 

“Hey.” Dean's fork is infinitesimally closer to Cas' face. “Don't make me kiss it out of you.”

 

Cas' lips twitch, the tiniest bit, and Dean grins in triumph. “Unless that's what you're angling for.”

 

Cas' face takes on a look of complete innocence, which just makes Dean laugh hard.

 

He doesn't kiss him over their breakfast though. He's not that stupid. He knows full well that if there's yoghurt present, and he is wearing a tie, he's going to be wearing that yoghurt if he does anything even slightly foolish in its presence.

  
So he leans Cas back against the car and kisses him senseless there instead.


	2. Toast and jam

**Toast and jam**

 

The small, rickety table that occupies the motel they are currently in is covered when Dean comes out of the shower. There are three open jars, several knives, splodges of indiscriminate colour on the table's surface, and also a stack of toast that Cas and Sam are steadily working their way through.

 

“Any for me?” he asks, bending down to steal a bite from the slice on Cas' plate.

 

Cas whines at him, but reaches out to take another slice from the pile. “What do you want?”

 

“What've we got?”

 

“Strawberry jam, mixed fruit jam, raspberry jelly.” Cas tells him, tapping a knife against each jar as he does.

 

Dean wrinkles his nose. “Definitely the jelly. How can you eat that...muck?” he settles for, eyeing the other jars in distaste.

 

“Dean,” Cas says, sounding horrified, and Sam cackles.

 

“The strawberry jam is Cas' favourite,” Sam confides in him, smiling at Cas' mock-grumpiness at Dean's dislike of his choice.

 

Cas hands Dean a slice of toast lathered with raspberry jelly, and he takes a bite, making a slight huffing sound of approval before reaching out to steal some of Cas' coffee.

 

Cas sighs, long-sufferingly, then stands to grab another mug from the side and fills it for Dean, pushing it across the table towards him. He then picks up his own toast, smiling happily again, and takes a huge, messy bite.

 

Dean's still loitering next to the table since there's only two chairs there, and rests his hand on the back of Cas'. He waits for Cas to finish chewing, and swallow, then bends down at an awkward angle to kiss him firmly on the mouth.

 

When he pulls away, Sam's making gagging noises, and Dean flips him off, before leaning down again to rub his cheek against Cas', stubble on stubble. “Don't like jam,” he whispers, close to Cas' ear. “But it tastes pretty good on you,” he adds, dropping a kiss on his jaw before he straightens up again.

 

Cas looks up at him, pleased, and proud, makes a small huff to himself, and picks up the remainder of his slice of toast.


	3. Breakfast biscuits and cookies in general

“They won't fill you up,” Dean warns, as Cas opens a pack of breakfast biscuits and slides them on to a plate.

 

“They are designed specifically for breakfast,” Cas tells him, reaching out to read the side of the box. “Slow release carbohydrates to ensure you have adequate energy throughout the morning.”

 

Dean huffs, unconvinced. “Yeah, right. Thank you, walking infomercial. I don't believe that nonsense for a second.”

 

Cas takes on an air of superiority. “We will see.”

 

By ten, Cas is walking through the bunker with a couple of Vienna Fingers in his hand, chewing thoughtfully. By eleven, he's made all three of them more coffee and is steadily working through a pack of Nutter Butters whilst they research, getting crumbs over everything and making Sam very antsy about it indeed. And by twelve, Dean catches him with his hand firmly in the cookie jar. When Dean wraps his hand around his wrist to pull it out, Cas' fingers grip around a handful of chocolate chip cookies.

 

Dean's eyes dance with mirth.

 

Cas shoves a cookie in his mouth, which Dean' chews on, fighting back the urge to laugh.

 

“That was to prevent the 'I told you so' you were about to give me,” Cas tells him, before pushing the other three cookies into his own mouth and sighing in relief.


	4. Lucky Charms

“Now there's a breakfast I can get on board with,” Dean says, grabbing the box of cereal and upending a good amount of it into his own bowl while Cas watches silently and pushes over the milk to him.

 

“It is very sweet,” Cas tells him, before taking another spoonful himself. “I like the charms,” he adds, filling his spoon again, carefully tipping away the milk against the side of his bowl, so he can look at the charms there.

 

Dean does the same.

 

“Me and Sam used to make up stories with them.”

 

“Stories?” Cas asks, looking up at him expectantly.

 

“Yeah. Stories,” Dean confirms, shifting slightly in his seat before sticking his hand in the box and pulling out a handful of cereal. He puts a moon down on the table between them, then shoves an hourglass in front of it.

 

“Once upon a time,” he begins, pointing at the hourglass and raising his eyes to Cas to make sure he understands, “it was a dark, stormy night,” he carries on, nudging at the moon. He digs through the cereal in his hand and triumphantly lays down a star, “and the stars were hidden in the sky.” He leans back, grinning at Cas.

 

Cas grins back.

 

Ten minutes later, Sam walks in, towel around his shoulders fresh from the shower to find Cas and Dean covering the table with Lucky Charms and half-arguing over the story they were telling.

 

“No, Dean. If we use a rainbow here,” he points, “then I can put a horseshoe there, to symbolise the coming of the unicorns.”

 

“What are you gonna use for the horn?” Dean asks, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

 

“No thing I wanna hear about,” Sam shouts over their shoulders as he walks past and heads for the pot of coffee.

 

Dean and Cas turn to him with a grin, then back to each other, and the grin just widens.

 

Later, when they've cleaned up their mess and everything is tidy once again, Cas sidles up to Dean and presses something into his hand, before walking away.

 

Dean stares after him, then lifts his hand and glances down at his palm, his face breaking out a full, beaming smile, before rolling his eyes, then smiling again.

 

It's a heart.

 


	5. The 'Full English'

Dean looked again around the restaurant and smiled.

 

The décor was something of a tribute to London. A bright red open topped bus adorned one of the walls, and all along the others were famous road signs, subway maps (“Tube, Dean. They call it the Tube,”) and shelves full of miniatures of all the monuments synonymous with England's capital.

 

Even the guy that served them at the counter, behind a mistrustful, pained scowl, was clearly British judging by his accent.

 

“Crowley,” they mumbled at each other, eyes widening a little, glancing back at him shrewdly as they slid into their seats.

 

“Coffee better be good,” Dean sighed, drumming his fingers on the table as they waited. He paused when he heard Cas' stomach loudly rumble. “Hungry, Cas?”

 

“Incredibly.”

 

“Well. This outta help,” Dean said, looking over the menu again to remind himself what they'd soon be eating. “You really think they eat all of this? All the time?” he said, voice drifting away with doubt.

 

“I do not imagine it is a daily breakfast. It seems far too big to eat regularly,” and Cas' stomach grumbled again in agreement in a clear,  _ feed me, now _ , tone.

 

When the guy behind the counter appeared beside their table and loomed over them ominously with huge, oval plates, both Dean and Cas looked up eagerly.

 

Their eyes grew wider as the plates were lowered, and they heard a grumbled, “Enjoy,” before they were left alone again.

 

“No one could eat that every day. Not even me,” Dean said, slightly in awe.

 

Three sausages. Three strips of bacon (“They say 'rashers' on the menu, Dean.”). A huge tomato cut in half and fried. Two fried eggs, three hash browns, a ton of fried mushrooms glistening and seeping black into the orange of the pool of baked beans that threatened to leak over the side. And to the side of all that were two slices of toast and a slice of fried bread.

 

Cas looked over at Dean for a moment then reached for the ketchup.

 

***

 

“Just leave me here. Go on without me. I'll only hold you back,” Dean uttered a very long time later, slouched down in the seat and clutching his stomach.

 

Cas slumped too, low enough that his knees rested either side of one of Dean's thighs. His eyes were closed, and he let out a thoroughly contented sigh. “I cannot move either, Dean. We will just have to stay here a while.”

 

Dean's phone rang on the table, and he scrabbled complainingly to get it, moving as little as he could.

 

“Sam. Sam, send help. Food coma,” Dean grumbled desperately into the phone.

 

Cas smiled, but didn't open his eyes.

 

“Sam. I'm hurt. Have you no sympathy for our pain?” and, “Yeah. Cas ate it all too. Yeah, all of it. Yeah, everything that was on the picture I sent you. I'm proud,” he said, and Cas opened his eyes to catch a wink from Dean, smirking back at him. “I mean I'm dead. But I'm proud,”

 

And then Dean let out a whine. “No, Sam. Uh uh. No way. No way in  _ hell _ we can move any time soon. You'll just have to wait it out.”

 

When Dean hung up the phone, Cas nudged against his leg.

 

Dean shook his head. “Nope. No words. Not one.”

 

Cas shrugged, and closed his eyes again, wriggling a little to get more comfortable.

  
“Careful where you're wriggling. I am in no fit state to respond how I'd like to,” Dean mumbled, but nudged Cas back under the table.


	6. Pop Tarts

“Did we raid Walmart in our sleep and I don't remember?”

 

Dean leans against the counter in the kitchen and grabs one of the boxes off of the side where Cas is stood, watching the toaster expectantly. “Cookies and Cream?”

 

“They're a little sweet. I don't know if I like them,” Cas says absently, drumming his fingers impatiently.

 

“Cas. They're Pop Tarts. Of course they're sweet. They're basically all sugar,” Dean says, putting the box back down. There are five open boxes that he counts, and his teeth do that thing where they feel like they're retreating into your gums from sugar overload. He smacks his mouth in distaste and moves to start coffee.

 

Cas beats him to it, pouring and passing him a mugful with an expression that says  _ please... like I wouldn't already have coffee on the go _ . “You sound like Sam,” he says, then smiles when the toaster pings. He grabs the corner of the Pop Tart between thumb and finger, quickly flopping it down on to his waiting plate then blows on his hand, chasing away the heat.

 

After a beat, he lifts the plate level to his mouth, delicately holds just the tip of the Pop Tart in case it's too hot, and takes a small bite. Then another. Then another, and his face drops more and more each time.

 

The plate clatters down onto the counter, and he pushes it away in disgust, before picking up the offending Pop Tart and throwing it with some force into the trash.

 

“That was offensive,” he declares, glaring at the box.

 

Dean laughs, and picks it up. “You don't like cherry?”

 

“I do like cherry. Very much,” Cas insists, taking the box from Dean's hands and firmly putting it in the back of the cupboard in front of them so he doesn't have to look at it. “That,” he nods at the closed door, “Was not cherry at all. I do not know what it was. But it was not cherry.”

 

Dean laughs again, leaning in for a good morning kiss to distract Cas from his disappointment, then turns and grabs the final, unopened box. He slides his fingers under the edge to open it, slots two more Pop Tarts into the toaster, and pushes the lever down, before even looking at the box to check the flavour.

 

“Frosted Blueberry,” he says, putting the box back down, leaning his back against the counter and pulling Cas to him. Cas goes willingly, nuzzling into the crook of Dean's neck before wrapping his arms around there and leaning up the slight distance it took to reach his mouth. “We're basically having dessert for breakfast, you know that, right, Cas?”

 

Cas hums, pressing himself against Dean so that they are touching at every possible point. “I do not believe you would normally complain,” he says quietly.

 

Dean smiles, and answers with a kiss, slotting his hands into the back of Cas' jean pockets. “All kinds of other desserts you can have for breakfast, Cas,” he whispers against his lips, feeling Cas' smile there.

 

When Sam joins them in the kitchen later, he takes in the sight of all the boxes on the counter, and smiles. “Pop Tarts? I  _ love _ Pop Tarts!” and he picks each of the boxes up enthusiastically before turning back to them, sat at the table, in disappointment. “No cherry?” he asks, crestfallen.

 

The look Cas gives him makes Dean howl, actually howl with laughter, but he stands anyway, reaching past Sam and taking the box of cherry flavoured Pop Tarts from the back of the cupboard before handing them to Sam.

 

“Cas  _ really _ doesn't like the cherry ones,” he tells him, placing a conciliatory hand on Cas' shoulder.

 

Cas' hand comes up to cover Dean's hand, giving it a light squeeze. “They are an abomination,” he  scowls, and Dean is desperately trying to cover up his laughter before he sits back down beside him.

 

Sam raises an eyebrow at them both before spinning on his heel and jamming two  _ abominations _ into the toaster.


	7. Pancakes

It's a bright, clear, sunny morning. At least, Dean thinks it must be as he glimpses up, and outside from where he's stood, plating up breakfast.

 

He has a wide, wooden tray, and he's already got a jug of juice, a cafetiere of coffee and two mugs, a jar of maple syrup and a stack of cutlery, glasses and plates.

 

This is going to be a bit of a juggling act, he thinks, shuffling things around to leave as much space as possible.

 

He slides what is probably too much bacon for two people onto another plate, and flips the last of the pancakes on to the pile already waiting, and somehow manages to slot everything on to the tray, without any spillages.

 

So far, so good, he thinks, gripping the tray handles and picking it up carefully.

 

Cas is still mostly asleep when he returns to their bedroom, and he pauses in the doorway for a minute to grin his  _ the-cat-that-got-the-cream _ grin that he gets every time he looks at Cas. He doesn't even try and rein in his expression to something resembling disinterest anymore. What's the point, when whatever he does he's still beaming out happy, even when he isn't smiling? He's way past caring how ridiculous he is when it comes to Cas. Truly a hopeless case. 

 

Cas stirs a little, and Dean takes that as his cue to wake him fully.

 

“Hey, Cas,” he calls softly, sitting down as gently as he can so he doesn't knock everything on the tray flying. “Cas,”

 

Cas grumbles, flops his arm out in Dean's direction, and Dean has to pick up the tray out of the way to avoid any spillages.

 

“Cas,” he says again, in a loud whisper accompanied by a somewhat technically difficult leaning down to kiss him on the back of his head. “Cas, c'mon. Made you breakfast.”

 

Cas stops grumbling, and slowly raises his head, sleepy eyes cracking open to look at Dean with confusion.

 

“Breakfast.”

 

“Yeah, Cas. Breakfast. The whole works. I mean. Pancakes. Bacon. Coffee. Juice. What more can a man want in the morning?”

 

Cas shuts his eyes for a second, scrunching them up to wake himself, then opens them again, looking at Dean a little more alertly. He looks down at the tray Dean is cradling in front of him, and back up at Dean, his face softening into a delighted, happy smile.

 

“For me?”

 

Dean laughs. “Well I didn't do it for anyone else,” he says, shuffling a little and holding on to the tray as Cas drags himself upright. “I intend to eat some of it myself though,” he adds with a smile.

 

Cas leans down, nuzzling against his shoulder with a quiet, “Good morning,” before reaching out to take the mug Dean is holding, and soon filling with coffee.

 

“So you still like pancakes, Cas?” Dean asks once the tray is all but clear and on the floor, with them resting against their pillows on the headboard, fingers wound together.

 

“I never didn't like pancakes, Dean,” Cas replies, nudging his foot against Dean's leg. “I just wanted to try other things for breakfast.”

 

“Good,” Dean sighs, leaning his head down on Cas', “'cos I'd hate for us to have to change this routine we've got going.”

 

“Routine?” Cas asks, smiling like he doesn't already know what Dean's about to say.

 

“Yeah. I make you breakfast in bed. And then we stay in bed. For the rest of the morning.” He punctuates each of his sentences with a kiss, which Cas arches into with a very happy sigh.

 

“It is important to keep up traditions,” he answers, reaching his hand around to cup Dean's face and shift into his arms a little.

 

“Very important,” Dean agrees, pulling Cas a little closer with a grin. “Very important  _ indeed _ .”


End file.
